Withdrawal
by Muircheartach
Summary: A summer off.  It sounded simple enough- just one summer without marching.  But the more I went without it, the more I realized just how much those summer days meant to me.


_Withdrawal_

A season off. I didn't know if I could handle it, to be completely honest.

It had become my life ever since I signed up for marching band freshman year of high school. I had been hooked since the first show. I loved the feeling of performing. It wasn't the same as concert band or jazz band; this was different. It was different because of the end result. In that final performance you could see every single ounce of effort that was put into it. All of those months of sore muscles, horrible weather, and no free time- that final performance was worth _everything_ that I gave up to get there. It had become my life for six years. It had become an obsession, an addiction even, in a way that I couldn't picture my life without it. I couldn't imagine having my summers off- I couldn't imagine not spending my time in that practice field, working on some segment of music or drill for hours on end. I couldn't picture my life without putting on that uniform and standing in that horn arc. I couldn't imagine sitting in the stands, watching groups perform. I needed to be out there, on that field, marching that show.

It was strange not going to rehearsals on Wednesday evenings. It felt so awkward that I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat in my dorm, watching crappy television and doing nothing productive with myself. Life became boring without Wednesday evening Minnesota Brass rehearsals to look forward to. As tired and sore as I felt after marching and holding my horn up for four hours, I missed it horribly. I missed the soreness in my arms and shoulders and the pain that I would occasionally have in my legs. I missed the excitement that happened when the brass staff would hand out new music, despite the fact that it meant there were more sections to practice over and over. I missed getting new drill sets, even though it meant that I'd probably be jazz running and playing sixteenth notes at the same time. I missed all of the body movement and choreography that we had to learn, even though I felt like an idiot when I was doing it sometimes. But despite all of that, I missed the people the most. The crazy moments we had as a section, the horribly obscene jokes that certain people would make, even the aggravation that happened when the percussionists were hacking at two in the morning on bus rides- I missed the interaction with those people that had become a second family to me for the past two years. Sure, I could go back and cheer them on at the shows that were in town, but being saying that I was an alumni felt so different from saying that I was a member of the corps.

It made me feel kind of like a dick when I said it. The fact that I had to repeat it over and over at the open house didn't help. "I really don't know if I can march this summer," I said. "I'm applying to be an RA at school and if I get the position I wouldn't be able to make it to finals. I have to wait until I find out whether I get it or not before I can commit to marching this summer." I knew that they understood; people took seasons off for various reasons. People would take a summer or two off, then come back and march when they could. It was a part of being a DCA corps- without any age limit people couldn't just drop their lives and dedicate their entire summer to marching. People with jobs and families sometimes had other priorities that took precedent over marching. I had my reasons too, but it didn't make me feel like less of a dick for saying it. If I got an RA position, I would have more money that I could put towards auditioning for a DCI corps the next fall. I only had one season after the upcoming summer that I could march before I aged-out. I wanted so badly to march DCI that I was able to rationalize not marching that summer. The extra five thousand dollars that I wouldn't have to pay for housing and food could be used towards camp fees and corps dues. I could rationalize it in my head so easily that often I forgot that I wouldn't be marching that summer, but when I remembered I didn't know how I was going to make it.

After a while I didn't know whether or not I really wanted to get the position. Part of me was hoping that I did- that the financial commitment that came with auditioning for DCI would be that much easier and that I would get a great experience that would prepare me for my career. Another part of me was hoping that I didn't. It was hoping that I wouldn't get a position and that I would get to march again that summer.

A month after I applied for the position I finally got an answer. "Dear Ms. Johnson," the email read. "We were very pleased with your interview, but we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you a position at this time." That was all I need to read; I hadn't gotten a position. I was disappointed. I had wanted it so much and tried so hard, and yet I didn't get it.

After a while the voice in the back of my head popped back in. _You can march this summer now, isn't that what you wanted?_

I emailed my section leader and heard back with an enthusiastic response within an hour. There was a spot for me on euphonium and they were looking forward to having me back. Of course I would have liked to be on baritone like I had been for the past two seasons, but since I was joining over two months after they started setting the line I couldn't really pick what I wanted to march. I was just happy to be back; it didn't matter what I was marching. "In a way it's a good thing that you didn't get the RA position," my mom told me one day when I was at home. "You would have been bored out of your mind sitting at home with me and your dad all summer. Now you'll have something to keep you busy again."

The next week I went to my first rehearsal. I was so excited to get back into marching that I spent the entire day counting down the hours until rehearsal started. It felt wonderful to be back. Sure, my arms were numb by the end of rehearsal due to the fact that I wasn't used to the weight that my euphonium had and my calves were sore from the backwards marching, but it felt wonderful nonetheless. It was great to see all of the people who I knew from the past two years and playing the show music felt so natural to me that I didn't know how I ever thought that I could last the entire summer without stepping into that horn arc.

"How did it go?" my mom asked when I got home after rehearsal.

"It was great," I told her. "I'm happy to be back." I was back doing what I loved to do and that was all that really mattered. I was finally back.


End file.
